Patchwork Immortal
by Joermungandr
Summary: Tony Stark, patchwork immortal extraordinaire, is tired off 'people' and 'adventures' and crap like that. He's gotten mellow, really, but that's what time does to you after a while. Now he just wants some peace, what he get's for a couple of centuries, until (unknowingly) he finds Loki's student being hunted in the middle of his stupid forest in Alfheim. Frostiron, 700y post-canon.
1. Wolfram brood

_"It's ok Tony. I'm happy, I've done so much more than I could've ever imagined. My time is here, and I'm glad that I can say good-bye to my idiotic best friend. Don't start worrying about me now."_

Tony remembers her words, her pale paper-thin skin crinkling into a smile as she said it. He remembered the cold, shaking hand on his cheek where she was wiping away his tears, and he remembered how it fell away only hours later, together with her breath, and the last fluttering beats of her heart.  
>And then Pepper Potts, the last of his friends, died at the incredible age of one hundred and four.<p>

The memory was extremely vivid, partly because he didn't dare let it fade, mostly because it was saved like most other memories and information he deemed important.  
>No matter that it'd been almost six hundred years ago, that he didn't even live anymore on earth.<br>People dying over and over is incredibly frustrating, and lets not begin with the fickle minds and the completely stupid choices they make again and again and _again_.  
>He used to scoff at the words that history repeats itself, but yeah, it does, humans are incapable of learning from others it seems.<br>'Humans' instead of the collective 'they' or 'we', because he was 'human' in only the looses of terms.

What he _was_, was a patchwork of immortality. He was a machine as much as he was plant and magic these days, an ash and yew heart, and a soul touched and approved by Lady Death, he couldn't even tell if there was anything originally 'Tony Stark' to him anymore at all.

Jarvis could've probably told him, if he was still with him, but he'd let the AI go and explore the realms. J knew where and how to find him anyway.

For about a century he'd done the same, but he'd grown mellow with the years, tired of the people always asking the same questions where ever he went, he was tired of the stares once someone had accidentally seen him without a shirt on and he'd gained the reputation as 'creature', next to many other things.

What he didn't get tired of was his thirst for creation and knowledge, all he wanted was a place he could call his own, away from prying eyes.  
>All he wanted was peace.<p>

And believe it or not, he's actually managed to get it.

His home for the past couple hundred years was an old, tall, gleaming black citadel, in midst an old forest, towering even over the largest of trees. Most of the surroundings were lost to nature, but downright ancient wards Tony found had protected the main towers and halls from any foliage or creatures nesting into the massive structure, not even letting him in when he'd discovered it quite by accident, until he tweaked them a bit, allowing him entrance.

It had taken him almost a couple of years to remodel the three towers, great hall and few remaining connecting rooms into what he wanted, and some more to get all his belongings collected from where they were strewn about the realms.  
>Once everything was settled in it's place, he'd created workspaces for magic, science and all his other studies respectively, had two large arc reactors installed and everything wired as needed and even a quite extensive library. What took him the longest through was figuring out how to keep the whole complex evenly temperated, not a concern for himself but volatile or sensitive materials.<p>

Tony was outside, wandering through the snowy forest, incapable of not admiring the gargantuan trees and evergreen foliage, so much bigger than the plants of most other realms.  
>He's never really been a nature person, until the mistress death herself shoved a new heart under his skin, literally made from ash and yew than grew roots within him, easily visible under his skin, and ever since then he couldn't help himself but feel calm around plants.<p>

It was when he stood in the middle of quiet cacophony that a forest brings, running his hand along an old, gigantic yew tree (together with ash, oak and olive one of the few familiar species from Midgard), feeling it's very own magic surrounding him comfortingly when there was a noise out of place.  
>A step, a branch cracking, the faintest sound of someone breathing, the shudder on Tony's skin from being watched.<br>It was a testament to the feeling of safety that trees, especially those of the same kind as his 'heart', brought, that he's let his guard slip this drastically.

"Face me." a quiet, shaking voice says, and Tony knows even before he turns and faces his not-yet attacker that this person is young and probably unskilled or just learning in magic or he would've been left alone. His Frankenstein's monster of a magical signature tends to do that.

There is an arrow pointing at his face, and for a moment he had to think of Clint, but arrow and shaft are covered in runes, some to poison, some to punch through wards, some for accuracy, and the (as always) androgynous elf barely three meters away is _shockingly_ young, a child to be exact, seventy at most, twelve if he was human, but already as tall as Tony himself.

For now he doesn't say anything, just stares at the kid unblinkingly, one hand still on the rough bark.  
>Tony doesn't have to wait long, the kid starts to fidgets, his fingers loosen around the arrow the same moment that it's mouth drops open in shock.<br>He let's the nanites form on his skin for just a moment to deflect the arrow (winces when he hears it bore into the tree behind him), and in the same time he snatches the bow out the kid's hands, melts it's dagger and throwing knives in their hilts with a word, and he doesn't wait to throw the kid onto the ground where it yelps in shock upon impact, pushes his knee into it's back, one hand clamped around the wrists and one on it's neck holding him down securely without taking the kid's breath.

"Let the Wolfram brood go, outsider." a voice, much older, comes from far up in the trees barely visible to the naked eye, just a Tony hoped, but the warrior (not hunter, why a warrior?!) said it in such a dispassionate way, that he wasn't sure that was one of the kid's folks.

And as if on command the kid under him freezes dead, "Please don't hand me to them, _please_, they're going to- I didn't mean to- _please_ don't!" it whisper's quietly, desperately and Tony can see that the kid actually started crying.

"They're not one of yours?" Tony asks quietly and quickly got a hissed, panicked barrage of "No! They're Wagenham, they hate my clan, Norns why didn't I listen to him, please help me!"

Oh great, what was that about peace and not getting dragged into some shit? Either way, he's not going to let some stray kid get picked up by an enemy clan. Carefully he pulls up the kid, and whispers into his ear, "When I say 'run', you will run as fast as you can north to the black citadel, get into the main hall, and before anything in there takes you apart you'll say that 'The Maker' sent you. Understood?"

The kid nods lightly, spiky green dreads almost smacking Tony in the face, as he quickly weaves some hiding and tracking wards onto the kid, and creates an illusion just where it was. Then he whispered "Run" and gone was the original small elf, utterly silent this time.

"Outsider! I said, let the Wolfram go!" the old elf yells down again, and Tony lets the same magic weave over himself.

The genius smirks, "Yeah, sure, but what is in it for me? He's pretty after all." he answers with a leer, hearing three answering dirty laughs. God people made him sick some days.

"You have good taste, Outsider, but I'd rather have him for myself. How about a trade?"

Tony laughs, unheard thanks to the concealing ward, and doesn't stay to watch his clone play shifty mortal and bargain for the elf kid's illusion. Instead he strolls northward after removing the arrow from the tree and healing it. He's got some terrified elf kid to catch up to before he tears apart his citadel.


	2. Pretty (terrifying) Tree Spirit

To say that Femke was terrified was the understatement of the century.  
>Because seriously? He always thought that Master Loki was terrifying after meetings with King Thor (he's only been present afterwards twice and Norns he still had nightmares!) but this? This trumped anything.<p>

When the stranger had not instantly killed him for loosing that dreaded arrow, and didn't hand him over to the Wagenham clan he could hardly believe his luck. When the stranger even helped him escape, Femke thought that _Norns almighty!_ he might actually make it back to Master Loki, and then he'd never again go against what his Master said.  
>Teleporting wasn't that great.<br>_It. Wasn't._  
>(It was.)<p>

So yes, he felt quite good about things so far, until Femke literally stumbled into the courtyard of what undoubtedly was _The Black Citadel_ the stranger had meant, and if (_IF_) he wasn't so terrified of the very real threat of the Wagenham, he'd probably piss his pants at the sight of ancient dark-elf architecture, the kind you see carved into the skin of the oldest elves, those that didn't have the luxury of escaping their slavery.  
>Oh Norns, what if the stranger was a surviving <em>dark elf<em>?!  
>He was dead meat.<br>He was so dead.

Except that it got better. Because against all sensible and good judgement he practically flew over the courtyard and through the tall gate, shutting the heavy, what seemed to be kmey wood entrance behind him and gave himself a moment to breathe, with his eyes shut, hearts hammering in his chest and abdomen.

But there was a splattering sound, a rustling, something delicately clacking against the wall not far from him and hot- too hot air, not quite breath, washed over his face smelling like nothing he'd ever known, not necessarily unpleasant but his body seemed to disagree as he felt himself grow almost sick with irrational (or not so irrational) fear.  
>He was doomed. Oh he was so doomed, Master Loki would stand over his grave and laugh at his misfortune.<p>

Something touched the skin on his left arm, feeling unnaturally smooth like polished wood, but soft at the same time, and it was cold, and sharp, and-

Femke opened his eyes and would forever deny having shrieked like a newborn kelpie, as all he could see was a gaping black maw with entirely too many blood red teeth, each at least as long as his lover arm, dripping with some thick liquid he did not care to pay more attention to.  
>Before he knew what he was doing, Femke had curled himself into a tiny ball, wrapping his arms over his head, and knees to his chest.<br>"The Maker sent me!" he yelped, "He said to say, the maker sent me, don't _eat_ me! _Don't eat me_ !"

The hot air current (really, it wasn't breath) vanished, the _thing_ on his arm was gone, and once Femke dared to open his eyes, so was the array of teeth. The entire thing was gone.

He carefully uncurled himself, daring to step forward, further into the large room, a hall really.  
>The space was surrounded with windows Femke didn't remember seeing on the outside, there were ferns and plants and roots and lichen growing all over the ceiling and walls, literally growing, moving right before his eyes at a speed plants were not supposed to, hanging into the windows and throwing strange, too dark shadows over apparatuses he didn't even have a name for.<br>_Things_ hung from the ceiling from ropes and chains and roots, sometimes seemingly nothing at all, looking like corpses in the sporadic light, or at least parts of them, there was at least one torso that seemed to have it's entrails almost falling out. Strange metallic, complex objects were everywhere, some moving, some not. He could smell components of alchemy, soot and sulphur, for some strange reason cardamom, and thought he saw a large table with instruments not unlike those out of Master Loki's alchemistic laboratory.  
>And if that wasn't enough illusions of light, showing writing and symbols he'd never seen before, were dotted all over the place, barely illuminating things below them, as the symbols kept changing, charting(?) whatever it was they were designated to.<p>

Femke stumbled further into the room, fascination somehow overruling the fear, as he spotted a row of probably ten, strangely glowing, bubbling columns on the far side, that had _things_ in them. Though only one of them was open, letting roots and lichen pool into the blue, green bright liquid.  
>And in that liquid was something that looked entirely too elfish for Femke's taste, but undeniable pretty, growing out of the vegetation, skin like young white bark, a too slim, straight nose, but no mouth he could see, a chin and neck, shoulders hidden by a shock of various, colourless lichen, growing, shifting constantly, thin, branch-like arms splitting into claws like polished woo- oh no, nonono, that thing was-<p>

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

Femke jumped to the side, away from the voice, the stranger who'd suddenly appeared next to him, and almost stumbled over a crate full of things that may pass for eyes and- were those teeth?! No- No he really shouldn't look closer.  
>Nope, no more looking at corpses or eyes or teeth or tree spirits in glowing columns.<br>Instead he focused on the stranger, a man, he realised, certainly no elf, he was too masculine for that, and too short, and his ears were like Master Loki's, small and round.  
>The man smiled at Femke and stayed silent, seeming amused while the elf tried to figure out what he was, and he <em>tried<em> but it all didn't fit.  
>He was no elf, that was established. He was too short and his skin was much too fair to be Vanir or Jotun, he seemed too slight and (again) small for an Aesir. He might be a quite tall dwarf, but his beard was too short, and his hair too thin, and dwarves did not have magic, and-<br>_Oh Norns_ now that Femke was calming down he could feel the odd magical signature surrounding him, he's never been good at feeling those, but it felt rather intriguing like a patchwork set together as it fits, even though it wasn't meant to, tasting like earth and snow but smelling like hay on a hot summer day, and wind that brings rain, and sounded like a hundred bird's wings cutting through air.

"What are you?" Femke carefully asked, and the man laughed quietly, reaching up and petting a strand of particularly low hanging, almost hair like lichen. A shiver went through the ceiling's root work and the elf caught the tree spirit's incredibly slanted eyes open, revealing pale blue eyes that had no hint of pupil or iris, and then below her nose a small tear in the bark like skin opened (her mouth, he realised), revealing row upon row of small, needle thin sharp red teeth as she smiled serenely. Brilliant, just brilliant.

"Nothing." the man answered, looking distracted by his pretty tree spirit's antics as it tried to lift itself out of the column, "But then, we're all essentially nothing. That was the wrong question though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Femke agreed warily, "the real question is, are you going to kill me?"


	3. Perrygen Essence

"No, _No!_"

"That stupid-"

"Oh Norns..."

He knew it.  
>He <em>knew<em> he should have kept closer tabs on his student, even if it had been their day off.  
>He knew he should have taken the books on higher magic out of his library (which's sorting system Femke never ceased to criticise).<br>He knew he should have-

He should have just done something!

Loki let himself fall back with a groan, burying his hands in his short black hair (careful not to disrupt the two braids Femke had woven his fringe just above his ear yesterday morning) as he let go of the tracking spell. Just sitting there for an undetermined amount of time, allowing himself to despair for just a moment.

Had he noticed earlier, had he realised any sooner what the child had done, from _anywhere_ by _any_ means he could've helped him.  
>But he'd not even known of Femke's absence until he returned to his house the next morning (this morning) and recognised the traces of a very amateurish, half botched, very draining teleportation spell.<p>

Loki'd gone instantly to work, but his tracking spell found the elf's magical signature only moments before it vanished (_died_).

Doing his best to distance himself for now (magic and strong emotions never wield good results), Loki quickly slid into his armor with a wave of his hand and began muttering the very same transportation spell, aiming for the spot where he'd last felt the signature.  
>The least he could do was grant his student a fair burial.<p>

When Loki arrived at the spot he was fairly surprised to find himself in a very old forest, older perhaps, than Loki thought they still existed on Alfheim. There were trees as tall as Asgard's towers, some still bearing greenery despite the snow on the ground, where ever it hadn't been stopped by branches. Frost marred dead ferns, the cold turning his skin blue and eyes red, but the god did nothing to stop the transformation from happening.  
>He has long found peace with it.<p>

What he couldn't find 'peace' with, was that there wasn't a single trace of anything bipedal passing here for a long time. No tracks in the snow, dead leaves or earth, no traces of magic except-

"Oh," Loki breathed out in wonder (and hope) as he laid free one of Femke's arrows, instantly recognisable by the garish yellow leaves he used instead of feathers for it's stability.  
>It had been shot, the god concluded as he noticed the small scratch on he arrow's side, and the damaged tip.<br>Though what was more interesting was the ... _odd_ magical signature on it, to use a nicer word.  
>Femke would've called it intriguing. The child had always been fascinated by broken things.<p>

But for all that Loki couldn't even imagine what a creature with a signature this torn would _look_ like, the arrow was placed very deliberately. It _felt_ deliberate, and reaching out with his very own magic for further anomalies it took him a mere moment to find more of the 'odd' signature at the old trunk of a yew tree, the scar Femke's arrow had left behind barely visible.

It had to be deliberate.  
>The arrow was much to far away from the tree and pointed into the wrong- oh- <em>direction<em>!

Oh clever! Very clever, and Loki would find himself appreciating such a subtle manner of guidance, only for those who searched, if it wasn't for whom he was searching for!

Femke had to be alive! Had the child died here, as the tracking spell suggested, there would be a body, or at least blood, but there'd definitely still be a trace of his grossly sweet magic as it'd still be binding itself to the surrounding nature.  
>Femke was alive (<em>for now<em>) and someone had taken and hidden him.

From here Loki could only resume in the classic style of tracking, or in this case, following directions and hoping that they weren't false.

Briskly the god set off, holding the arrow tight and walking north, where it had pointed.

While trying not to get off direction (it's been a while since he had to navigate Alfheim by nature's directions instead of roads), the god set to analysing the signature.

It came apart into so many things, four seasons (what needs _four_ seasons?!), two elements (earth and water), a staggering array of minor elements (coal, pure and impure metals, glass, various minerals, and _gems_), two cores of wood (_two_?! Of _wood_?! Only trees, dryads and the like have wood-cores!) and the most disturbing part: a hint of death, of void.

Now, magic in itself is the force of life, everyone and everything that can be considered to _be_, everything that _is_, everything that _exists_, everything that's _something_ has magic.  
>So of course there is the opposite of <em>isn't<em>, of _nothing_, of death.  
>And 'death' on magic, means death as in <em>Death<em>, as in Mistress Death herself tempering with life, and the thought that some puppet of the physical manifestation of End and Void has his (hopefully, probably) alive student was... not very reassuring.

To top that all off like mead to the feast (from Hel), it's colour was almost white, with just a hint of blue, almost cyan. Much too close to another thing's magic he'd felt long ago, and never wished to come near again.  
>Though even Mistress Death would have a hard time tempering with an object as powerful as the tesseract, so the colour coordination was probably a coincidence.<br>Not that Loki believed in coincidences.

The barely changing scenery of trees, snow and the occasional animal, was suddenly interrupted as he stepped into a wide clearing, seeming larger with the (admittedly) quite imposing black even surface of the courtyard, and three tall towers stabbing straight into the clouded sky with their sharp and narrow angles.  
>Dark elf architecture, he quickly realised, as their ships from seven centuries (a lifetime) ago came to his mind.<p>

It took the god a moment to notice that he's already passed though the wards (ancient magic that had fed on the forest, barely touched by that twisted signature), and couldn't help himself but get excited. Someone with this much control over their magic might know things he, one of the (actually) greatest sorcerers of the realms, did not know, and even if that wasn't the case that person might be able to keep up with him!  
><em>If<em> it was a person of course.

He cautiously walked over to the door, expecting it to be locked or warded as well, but to his absolute astonishment it opened the moment he lay his hand onto the dark wood, revealing it's dark interior.

The moment it took for the god's eyes to adjust seemed to be enough for an attack as hot air suddenly burnt on his Jotun skin, much to sensitive for temperatures as this, and he already had a dagger in hand and a spell on his lips when someone called it, _whatever that was_, back.

The creature he'd barely caught a glimpse of, and the hot air current gone Loki granted himself a second to evaluate his surroundings, barely able to keep the astonishment off his face.

This hall was _brilliant_!  
>Quite disturbing as he couldn't make out everything in the darkness, and the sheer amount of that crude magical signature was almost oppressing, but undeniably brilliant!<br>Until Loki caught sight of tall, narrow tanks filled with what looked like perrygen essence, and his student floating in one of them.

"Release him." the god ordered coolly, glaring at the man (magic most intense around him) standing just a few meters away from him behind a desk, ignoring the plant familiar clinging to the ceiling, even though he couldn't help but realise it was what had attacked him earlier.  
>It's roots were hot, he could feel it, even as he let his Aesir skin wash back over him, so much more comfortable with the threat of heat.<p>

The man (Was that a mortal? He looked like a mortal.) grinned at him, "In an hour. Kid almost burnt through his core, we can't have him slack in his studies now, can we? Drink? No? Of course not. Whisky is so beyond gods, I knew I should have offered you tequila. Usmea, do we have tequila? What do you mean we have none?! Oh alright."

Loki stared at the man as he prattled on through at least seven topics in about as many sentences, while carving a variation of runes and symbols onto a small sphere of a material Loki couldn't identify from where he stood, he only knew it was white and barely the size of an eyeball.

Whoever that was did not seem to categorise Loki as a threat, as he let the god wander through his laboratory without complaint, not even looking up when he scooped out some of the tank's liquid with his hand to analyse it, if the man had even noticed him doing it (though Loki did not doubt that the familiar had a way of letting him know, her eyes were on him constantly).  
>The god had been right, it was pure perrygen essence.<p>

Another hour in it would do Femke the exact opposite of harm.

Now standing in front of the desk he could see what it was the man was working on, a small sphere of crème colored ivory, a good that was almost impossible to get these days as the midgardian creatures that grew it were long extinct.

"Who _are_ you?" Loki asked as he tried to figure out the circles and symbols (no runes) carved into he material, unable _not_ to be intrigued.

The man looked up and silvery brown eyes focused on the god a second longer than polite, before he leaned back into the leather chair, looking almost chagrined.

"Aww, and here I thought we had something special, Prancer."


	4. What is this anyway?

"Aw, and here I thought we had something special, Prancer."

Loki stared at the man who was still fiddling with the ivory sphere, wrecking his brain from where he could know that person, because he couldn't have _forgotten_ someone with a signature like _this_, right? Right.  
>"I do believe you must be mistaking me for someone else."<p>

The man's expression of chagrin did not waver.  
>"It is you, alright. Loki, God of all things Chaos, Mischief and '<em>Kneel!<em>', the one with a helmet only slightly more stylish than Thor. Though I really shouldn't be surprised that you don't remember me, hm? Was just an ant back then after all."

For a long moment he was at a loss, especially considering that he hasn't worn his helmet in centuries (wearing it seemed to always get him into... _situations_).  
>Until something suddenly seemed to click into place (<em>'An ant had no quarrel with a boot!' - 'In the end you will always kneel!' - 'How will your friends have time for me, when they're so busy fighting you?' - 'I'll have that drink now, if it's all the same to you?'<em>), and he could barely keep the shock off his face once he realised just _who_ was lounging in that leather chair in front of him. Though going by _Stark_'s grin he utterly failed.  
>"What in the Norns' name have you <em>done<em> to yourself?!"

Loki remembered the clear, crisp aura (almost like a signature, just not quite) Stark had when he'd tried to invade Midgard on Thanos' order, how that very aura had (somehow) rebounded the sceptre's magic effortlessly. (How he lifted the man by the neck and threw him out of a window.)

The Stark who was in front of him seemed a bit smaller than the one he remembered, though his statue hadn't changed much, his face had stayed the same, perhaps gained some hardness, the hair was a bit longer, his beard unchanged, though he thought that the silver in those eyes was new.

"Oh, you know," Stark said, lazily waving his hand that was holding the sphere, "This and that, nothing special. But hey, why don't you sit? It's going to take a little longer until Femke's core isn't in critical condition anymore. The kid didn't even feel it. Is he always that much of a numbskull?"

"Nothing special?!" Loki burst out in disbelief, temporarily ignoring the insult to his student, "Your aura is gone, your signature shredded into a dozen pieces, sown together by Death herself and you say nothing _special_?!"

Stark looked at him, grin wide and splitting his face, teeth sharper than a human's had any right to be (except that he obviously wasn't human anymore).  
>"Aww, you care." he cooed, and Loki could feel something flicker in the man's magic, and while it didn't feel malicious the god felt like he should leave. Really, he should, even a hint of a predator's signature never did any good to anyone.<br>Except that that of course wouldn't change his decision to stay as long as Femke was in the tank, restoring his magic. Perrygen Essence was rare and even Loki didn't own more than a vial (and had never seen as much in one place as Stark held).

So instead the god let out a snort, "Hardly. Though imagine my surprise. I thought you mortals were all dust and gone."

"You didn't even remember 'us mortals', not that I'm one of them anymore. Haven't been for a long- _long_ time, trust me. Or no, don't trust me. Might get you killed and what would a world without chaos be, hm?"

"Are you threatening me?" he drawled while shoving aside a couple of _things_ on the desk Stark was working at, creating some space for himself to sit as he couldn't spot another chair.

"Nope." the man answered cheerfully, placing his heels onto the desk next to Loki's hips, "Not threatening, just stalling. I do tend to get bored every once in a while, and as you can imagine there isn't much company around."

"What is this anyway?" Loki asked, gesturing at the citadel surrounding them, "Exile?"

The man laughed, "Yeah, something like that. Getting away from staring people and their stupid questions. Have you noticed? They always ask the same thing and never like the answers!"

Loki couldn't help himself but smile.  
>"I noticed." he answered, looking over to the tank that Femke was floating in. He could sympathise with that, really. One of the many reasons he was on Alfheim was that elves didn't give a damn about rumours without proof, and even if you have a reputation they treat you politely until you proved yourself unworthy of their kindness.<p>

To the god's surprise a companionable silence took over between them, only filled by the noises of various experiments around them, the creaking and rustling of roots and foliage above, and the occasional gurgle in one of the other tanks.  
>He felt himself relax, leaning back on his hands, watching Stark imbue the sphere with that crooked magic of his, which, now that Loki spent some time surrounded by it, didn't feel as wrong as before. While it still certainly didn't pass for natural, the different elements always seemed to shift to accommodate and stabilise each other, what didn't explain the sudden appearance of that animalistic (predatory) glee he'd felt before, though who knows.<br>Even a hale and stable magic core shifts with emotions.


End file.
